Approach of the storm - Chapter 11

This story was submitted to the People’s War site by Roger Marsh of the ‘Action Desk — Sheffield’ Team on behalf of Thomas Arthur Russell, and has been added to the site with his permission. The author fully understands the site's terms and conditions.

Approach of the storm Chapter 11
By
Thomas Arthur Russell

Far from being the stern featured man I had visualised, I saw before me a kindly looking man, a man I could best imagine pruning his roses in some country cottage garden. Somehow I didn't feel as scared, his overcoat covered what appeared to be a sparse frame. The Captain's epaulets stood out squarely on his shoulders, a mutter of voices, a quick scanning by the grey eyes of the men before him, his men.

Then the ritual as each man was called forward by name, rank and official number, off caps a quick perusal of history sheets, the questioning by the Captain of each man's divisional officer on conduct, then the quiet voice awarding the punishment: stoppage of leave and pay over long periods. Each award of punishment was duly noted, then on caps, about turn, double away smartly till it came to my turn.
"Second class Stoker Russell, DKX 100469 Sir." The voice of the "Jonty" read out my crime. "Did overstay his I leave by three days, so many hours having leave from so and so till so and so, returning aboard ship on December so and so," and giving the actual time of my return. "Please give me this mans' history sheet," the quiet voice again, my hands all the while holding my hat down by my right leg seam as he scanned it. Then "Lieutenant Commander, what is his work like and his conduct otherwise than this?" I got a good word put in for me by my divisional officer, in fact, I didn't know I was so well thought of. "Now Russell what is your excuse? I understand you missed your bus on successive nights, the last bus you say, yet why didn't you take an earlier bus to the station?"
I answered him, "Well sir, I had met a girl and I had been seeing a lot of her on leave and I simply kept leaving it too late." The grey eyes looked straight into mine, did I see a twinkle of something there? Well your conduct hasn't been too bad. You have done your work well, but your offence is serious. It means you didn't think enough of your ship or shipmates to return off the leave you were privileged to receive, and leave is a privilege. In view of your youth I'll take a lenient view of your offence and warn you not to do this again."

"Master at Arms." "Sir." The Master at Arms stepped forward, "I award this man 26 days pay stopped and 26 days' stoppage of leave." "Stoker Russell on cap, about turn, quick march, then double away smartly." What a relief, no "Chokki", I felt I’d been let off the hook. I felt affection for this skipper of ours. I wouldn't do anything like that again, I wouldn't let him down from now on I'd try and do my best. As I pen these lines, I still remember this kindly man and I'm glad I was privileged to serve under him.

The lads on the mess deck greeted me with, "What you got Yorkie?" On my answer of 26 days pay and 26 days stoppage of leave, "Cor you lucky bastard we thought you were sure to get Chokki." I was lucky and I knew it.

Soon after this, amid a variety of mess deck “buzzers” the ship sailed, we left “Guzz”, the naval slang for Devonport and headed north. A short stay off Greenock in the Clyde, where a further misfortune befell me. Some of the lads had been ashore and had a skinful of beer; one of the Buzzers was to the effect we were going tropical. While looking among my tropical kit to make sure all was there and in good order, I happened to find my white sun helmet in its cloth cover was missing.
A good search of the hammock storage space revealed it hidden away in a corner and lying thrown down, the cloth cover was stained a brownish colour and was thrown on top of a heap of human excreta. It was obvious some unknown mess mate had been taken quick in the night and had used my sun hat as a toilet using the cover to wipe his backside. My wishes on this unknown covered every kind of disease, which could be caught ashore by a sailor, plus a few more unprintable oaths. I got lots of sympathy but I never did get to know who was the culprit.

The leading hand of the mess, suggested I show the Chief Stoker of the "Double Bottom Party", of which part of ship I now came under this included trimming ship, fuelling, fire main pumps, and freshwater supply, cleaning and maintenance of the many and varied compartments.

His little office was situated right in the centre amid ships a bit aft of the stokers' mess deck and a deck below, on the officer bulkhead was a ship’s plan with red and green pegs denoting fuel tanks in use on either port or starboard sides, a large brass plum bob set against a semicircular brass plate and showing degrees of list of the ship was underneath, enabling us to compensate and trim ship by switching fuel tanks from time to time.

Cheify was in his office as I arrived and was checking notes and scanning the plan. “Cheify Sir, may I have a word?” He slowly pivoted his chair round. He had a darkish, “gypsyish” face, his old oil-stained peaked cap was perched on the back of his head and he smiled as his eyes fell on the burden I held out to him. “Well, what’s this then Russell?” “Someone shit on my sun hat sir and wiped their arse on the cover.” "One of your bloody mates I expect.” “I don’t know sir, but I expect they were pissed on their return last night.” "Well, I'm sorry I can’t do anything lad.” “Well, couldn’t you give me a chit for a replacement, sir?” “Beyond my authority," he replied, "I suggest you go down to the bathroom and wash it out. Then scrub it, it should be okay." Away I went, to wash and scrub it. I could see it was so well-stained that I would be the only one with a khaki sun hat if we ever had to fall in, in tropical gear. F*** it, up top I went and on to the fo'castle carrying my sun hat before me like a sacrificial offering, it was. I was offering it to King Neptune, over the side went the stinking mess with a whispered “f*** off” and a hope that the one responsible would soon follow it.

From Greenoch, we proceeded north again to Scapa Flow, there were rumours of an imminent invasion and there seemed to be some unusual activity aboard. Launches passed to and fro from ship to ship, I saw men in smart civilian suits and my mind conjured up thoughts of evacuation. Could it be the big wigs were going to save their skins if an invasion came off?

It wasn't long before we came to an hour's notice for steam. Refuelling had been completed now, boiler room and engine room watches were pinned on the notice board, we finally sailed in the evening and not being on watch, I made my way up to the high angle gun deck. The January night was as black as the hobs of hell. A moderate sea hissed down the sides of the ship in a faint phosphorescent glow, away astern I saw the intermittent flash of a lighthouse somewhere. I mused, the only light I could see. The ship was blacked- out completely, the dark mass of the great funnel and the after tripod mast and wireless, yards swayed from side to side as she moved to the long swell of the Atlantic, the wind was shrieking through the wires and stays even now when it wasn't particularly rough, what lay ahead, out there.

Next morning dawned, cold and grey and we fell in with several merchant-men with an escort of destroyers. This convoy comprised of ships capable of a fair speed, among them some of the banana carriers built for that market and some of the fastest of the merchant fleet. They had a light pinkish paint on their hulls, much like a coat of primer, the destroyers were dazzle painted in dark and light grey to break their outline up, and I expect in snow squalls or among ice floes, it could prove important if we had to fight a surface action. About three days out the destroyers left us, strange this, but as I found out later it was a regular thing on this North Atlantic run which we and our sister ship the Revenge were on.

But destroyers were in short supply and our role was to give protection against surface raiders, therefore we had escorts for a day or two, then a gap till western approaches escorts could pick them up on the British side and Royal Canadian Navy corvettes or destroyers on the Canadian side. In between the Admiralty plotted the U boat concentrations and we would swing well to the south from bitterly cold conditions to near tropical weather to avoid them. Meanwhile we would occupy a position in the middle of the convoy to make it harder for a U boat if it did spot us, to attack the battleship, which of course would be the main target.

We by now had been informed that Halifax in Nova Scotia was our destination and it appeared we were carrying an important cabinet minister and a certain amount of gold bullion. The weather had got colder and the sea rougher but nothing to what we would see before we were through. This was to prove our fastest convoy trip and a few days later we were met by the welcome sight of a RCAF Catolina flying boat, our Aldis blinked a signal and received a reply welcoming us to Canada. This flying boat patrolled around the convoy for a couple of days in the daylight hours and it was nice to know we had eyes in the sky looking out for us. My first view of Canada was the feeling on the senses of the greyness of it all against a backdrop of snow. The ships of the convoy anchored, while we proceeded alongside the jetty. Halifax lay on the shores of a large bay and was surrounded by low undulating hills, with a covering of trees. It reminded me of pictures I'd seen of the frozen North.

The dockyard building looked drab and depressing with snow laying thickly everywhere. There was plenty of coming and going, a number of the famed Canadian Mounties and soldiers came upon the scene and a chute was swiftly rigged up from the ship's side to the jetty down which thick sided oblong wooden boxes with rope handles were slid to be transferred to military trucks. This looked like bullion and I believe there were V.I.P.'s on the jetty.
The port of Halifax spread around the bay and my memories are of one main street with smaller streets running down to the sea and some on a slope to the back, it gave an appearance of straggling a bit. To my delight, my twenty six days' stoppage of leave and pay was up and I was watch ashore next day.

The usual emotions and anticipations of visiting another foreign port were there, the usual mess deck talk of women and drink as collars were ironed and shoes polished and hats and uniforms brushed, new badges being sewn on, gold ones in preference to red, white Lanyards soaked and washed in a bowl of soapsuds and black silks carefully folded to the regulation thickness and ironed. A fever of activity usual to jack, on his preparations for shore leave. I think it represented his hopes and ambitions on finding some indefinable something on a strange shore, would it be a glamorous female, would he be befriended by some rich family or would he get well in with someone who would lash him up to lots of good food and drink and a nice bed on his shore leave.

Odd times people had been known to make a sailor at home and treat him, when his mates on the mess deck got to know, he got the old navy name of "Grippo Strangler" and on coming down the hatchway to the mess deck after shore leave, cries of "Grippo, you Grippo Strangling bastard" would arise, not with any vindictiveness but more with envy and the lucky one would smile. One or two seemed to manage to get their legs under the table wherever they went. My first run ashore in Canada ended up being roused from a drunken sleep in the snow of someone’s garden and being warned of the dangers of doing that in such a cold climate. I ended up by being escorted by a Canadian shore patrol and fixed up with a bed at one of the shore establishments for sailors with all night leave.

A number of my mates came to grief when they sampled the Canadian Whisky and Black Horse beer, but a curious fact emerged, wherever Jack first visited a strange port, he first seemed to have to sample the booze to the extreme, nearly like a ritual. After the booze, the women, and you could nearly bet on who would be the first to qualify for the C.D.A mess (caught disease ashore). I imagine the surgeon Commander used to swear to himself for the trouble he had repairing the ravages of genitally transmitted diseases. It's funny how some never learned, even to treating it more like a big joke, it meant being separated into a special mess, no shore leave 'til they were cleared, and no tot before the midday meal, then the jibes from pals. "F*** off you dirty bastard you'd put your prick in anything," and words to that effect.

They were treated with M and B tablets, penicillin not being available then, on returning to their usual duties and their mess deck "hoppoes", a great cheer would go up and much concern on the state of their health and enquiries, "Was she worth it?" and "Watch out next time, tie a knot in it before you go ashore again so you'll remember, you silly pillock." To hear this mess deck conversation was a revelation in itself, it could have made a jolly good TV programme.

The human aspect of many men thrown together, the humour in the face of misfortune, the rough concern and the little acts of kindness among men some little more than boys, the sailor was always looked on as a bit tough, rough but kind and I think some of this percolated through from the Regular Navy, down among men who had simply plumped for their service in the Navy and probably would never have considered life afloat but for the war.

Looking back over the years, I see and remember faces I knew, sometimes a face in a queue suddenly reminds you of someone you knew, a young face and yet it can't be, he'd be much older, you suddenly realise you are an old man, yet many of those phantoms of yesterday you can often give a name to.

Then you realise how lucky you are to have not only lived to tell the tale but to have such a wealth of memories to fill the declining years. Canadian cafes, juke boxes, T bone steaks the odd bottle of bootleg whisky the morning Bill T and I missed the Liberty boat and had to dash for the mail boat to make it just in time, as the ship weighed anchor and proceeded up the Halifax roads to take up her position with an outgoing convoy.

Pr-BR

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